Always, there is Hope
by WolvieFanSpell
Summary: Eventual use of stephen king characters. People being used by 'higher powers', some similarities to Insomnia. RR. Decide for self. Rating for violence and future chapters


Just a Warning…I'm not so good at sticking to details. If you read King, you should recognize his characters. The ones you don't prolly belong to me. Who cares, I ain't making any money off this, so there's my disclaimer.

"_Sometimes Death is better" is a qhote from Pet Cemetary._

__

Hope:

Hope could taste the blood on her lips. With a demonic smile, she stood my ground.

"C'mon and get me."

The other woman looked at her small frame, confused. When she saw the fire burning in her eyes, she began to back away. They all did. The crowd around them had fallen silent at her fear. Fear was the killer, and they knew it. The ones in front began to scream and yell, bloodthirst in their shouts. The regulars knew to sit far back.

With a wordless shout, I charged the woman, sending her back against the wires of the cage. As they began to cut into her, I saw it in her eyes. The reason there was a crowd for this kind of thing, cause they didn't see what I saw. I saw the fear. I saw her pains, and no acceptance. Her sweat glands began to work overtime and there were tears in her eyes and snot running down her face as she began to beg. Her black eye makeup made trails down her unnaturally pale face. She was just a kid, barely out of her teens. Well, so was Hope. As a matter of fact, she was just a kid. Still in her teens. There lay the crucial difference. This woman was no different from a hundred others. She had the poser attitude, the spiked hair, the pale skin, the dark makeup. They claimed they were in pain.

They always found pain in her arms, and comfort. With a quiet whisper Hope put her lips to the dying girl's ear.

"It doesn't hurt for long."

Then she gave the final push, and the lights faded in the other woman's eyes. As the wires sliced and diced her, Hope charged the edge of the cage. The front rows were covered with the other woman.

"Anymore takers?"

She challenged the nauseous spectators. No one raised their hands. There was the dead silence. Always, her dead get silence. Except in her dreams.

Sometimes Death is Better

David:

David Stark flexed his back muscles, then turned his attention back to the road. His son sat behind him, intent on the handheld game. His wife glanced into the backseat, then looked at her husband.

"Are we almost there hun?"

She asked slowly. David flinched at the near-fear in her voice. Yeah, he'd packed them up and started driving with no visible reason, but did there have to be one? True, he hadn't slept in almost three days. True, the colors were coming back, and he didn't want to help. He'd paid his price as a child. And lied about it ever since. But this time he'd heard a voice whispering in the nightwinds.

"There is always hope, always hope, hope...hope..."

The voice seemed to echo that one word. Usually, David ignored the voices when they spoke, and the pictures that they oh so genorously graced him with. Until last night.

"There is always hope for Brian."

His son...his name was Brian. So David was running, again.

Brian:

Brian flicked off the game he'd been playing and stretched out on the backseat of the car. The seats stank of ciggarrette smoke, even though his dad had stopped a year ago. There was a stain on the floor mat from some soda he and his buddies had spilled on a trip to a meet. Brian felt overwhelming exaustion sweep over him yet again, and hoped he'd been able to sleep. Last night, he'd not been able to sleep. Even after _travelling. _That usually calmed him, but last night it had not been able to work it's magic.

Brian had lain in bed for the rest of the night, staring at the darkened ceiling, listening to his father moving around ferociously in the other room. Normally, he got just as much sleep as every other 16 year old boy out there.

Brian's eyes snapped open suddenly as a voice whispered in his ear.

"Hey Dad, who's Hope?"


End file.
